A Family by Christmas
by TheChicaChic
Summary: AU story set in series 5 but altering the timeline a bit. When Ruth finds a surprise on her stoop one evening before Christmas, just how will her life change - and how does Harry fit into all this? Another offering to the Christmas 2013 Advent Calendar; a multi-chapter fic.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: Welcome to my next Christmas offering for this year's Advent Calendar. This is a multi-chapter story set in series 5, though to be fair, I am playing with the timeline majorly. You'll see what I mean when you read. Also, I'd say characters are OOC or will become OOC as the story progresses. I believe this is an original idea to the fandom, but if it should be copying anyone else's, I apologize now; it is not my intention.**_

_**Thank you to Sigma Creations and HR always lives on for giving this and the next two chapters a read through for me.**_

* * *

A light mix of rain and sleet is falling as Ruth slowly trudges from the bus stop home, the evening rush lighter than most other nights this time of year due to the messy precipitation. It has also found her with an unprecedented Thursday night free as the last evening rehearsal before the Saturday night holiday performance of her choir had been canceled. Which is in itself a blessing as she's mentally and physically exhausted from the extra work required to research and approve those guests celebrating the holidays with the RF.

All of those extra background checks, the larger than normal increase in assessments of temporary employees, the second and third reviews of any threat assessments pertaining to London; and all with the added benefit of Harry no long speaking with her, making her smile with a word or a look.

Three months.

That's how long it's been since he asked her on that second date and fear of what others would say or think had her saying no. Since then, he has erected a wall to keep her out; no more late night conversations or lingering glances across the Grid, no more accidental touches as he passes over a file or sitting next to her during briefings.

He's been distant, short, and utterly professional.

She regrets saying no. Not because of work, though she does miss the pleasure he brought to the daily grind that comes with their profession, but because she misses _him_. Misses his wit, his motley laughter, the way he makes her stomach flutter with just a glance, misses the worry when he's out in the field and the potential of the what if.

She's thought of asking him to dinner, or even a drink, but she's unsure how he would interpret the invitation and so she's hesitant to extend it.

Shivering, she pulls her jacket tighter and turns onto her street. Just a few more houses and she'll be home. As she passes her neighbors, she has to smile at the festivity surrounding her. All have gone out for the holiday season, fairy lights twinkling in windows and on trees, candles glowing from their perches.

And then there's her house.

She can see it in the distance, all dark and gloomy compared to the others, and for a moment, she feels a rush of sadness creep upon her, but it's as she nears the gate she tells herself it's for the better. She's alone this holiday.

Like the past two. Like she has been since taking this job in London when her mum had taken her to task for leaving Cheltenham at such a difficult time for their family and given her an ultimatum; take the job and lose her family or forget the job and stay within the bosom of family bliss. It hadn't been much of a choice.

Only around the holidays, when everyone is off celebrating with friends and family does she feel the real loneliness of her life, does she regret the decision, and so this year, she had made the promise to just skip the holiday.

And as much as she tries to deny it, she knows it stems, in part, to the depression-like state she has sunk into over the end of her non-relationship with Harry.

With a sigh, she opens the gate to her front garden, carefully walking up the slippery path as she searches her bag for her house keys. She knows they're in there somewhere, she had checked before leaving the Grid. As she nears the porch, she happens to look up from her search and stumbles to a stop.

To stare in shock and wonder.

* * *

_**AN: This is technically Tuesday's offering to the Advent Calendar but I'm posting it a day early as we're supposed to get more snow tonight and as I'm the only manager in this week, I've got to do the 90 mile drive in, thus I have no idea what time I will be around. Please leave a review, letting me know what you think, good or bad.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN: Wow - thank you all for the wonderful reviews, I am so glad you're enjoying this story, and was thrilled at the people who took the time to leave me a review. =0)**_

_**Update tonight includes both my chapter 2 and chapter 3 plans - hope you enjoy even though Harry has not made an appearance yet. Hope to put a new chapter 3 up tomorrow which will have an appearance of the man of the hour.**_

_**Thanks to HR always lives on for her suggestion for this chapter and thank you to Sigma Creations for reading through these as well.**_

* * *

Eyes closing, she counts to ten, and wonders if she is in fact dreaming, if what; no _who_; is currently sitting on the front stoop is nothing but a figment of her imagination. As the freezing rain slides down the neck of her jacket, she opens her eyes and stares at the three children currently huddled together against an oversized suitcase; or rather the two older children are, the third is wrapped in blankets in a carry cot set next to the oldest. Over them, a large umbrella is doing very little to keep the elements from soaking them.

"Markus?" she asks of the oldest, forcing a smile onto her face as he looks up to see her, joy and happiness filling his eyes. It's been over three years since she's seen her nephew but she would know those eyes, his mouth anywhere.

"Aunt Ruth!" he cries, leaving go of his little sister to jump out from under the umbrella and wrap his arms around her legs. Behind him, the little girl; Marguerite; isn't far behind, and as they cling to her, she wraps her arms around them, looking around for their mother or their father.

"Where are your mum and dad?"

"Mum left forever ago," he says, reaching into his pocket. Pulling out a folded piece of paper, he hands it up to her. "She said to give this to you when we saw you."

"How long is forever ago?" she asks, reaching for the paper. As their hands meet, she feels how cold the skin of his small hand is and she freezes. "Markus, how long have you three been here?"

"I don't know," the small boy says, looking at his sister and brother before looking back up at his aunt, "but there was still light in the sky when she left us."

A quick glance at her watch, along with a calculation in her head, has her thinking they've been out there for close to an hour and a half. "Let's get inside," she says, tucking the note in her handbag. Key in hand, she quickly unlocks the door, ushering them in as she picks up the carry cot, pushing the suitcase with her feet, and quickly gets them all into the cool entry way. Setting the cot on the floor, she ventures back outside to grab the umbrella, closing it, before shutting and locking the door.

Standing there in the darkened room, she has a moment of panic as she wonders what she's to do with these three little humans, but as she shivers from the cold, she quickly makes the decision to do with them what she'll do to herself. Turning on a light, she has them begin to take their wet coats and shoes off, bending down to help Margo with the laces before turning to the baby. She stares at the numerous straps and buckles on the contraption, wondering which one to push to release the latch. Hesitantly, she presses the middle buckle and watches as it releases, letting her begin the process of freeing the littlest from his constraints.

Leading them into the sitting room, she has them jump up on the couch where she tucks a few throws around them, holds the smallest, and sets down to read the letter.

She finishes the letter, unable to believe that anyone could be as selfish as her sister-in-law has been, her eyes drifting from the paper to the children as a fear grips her. Angela has apparently decided that motherhood is not for her; not now that Peter has left her and the children; and Ruth's mother and step-father are too old to care for the children, so she has decided that the next best option for everyone is to give the children to Ruth. A woman who has never watched a child before, let alone changed a nappy.

Obviously she's the perfect candidate to sign guardianship over too.

As her eyes settle on the children, she sees them quietly sitting under the blankets, their eyes wide as they stare at her. It's only as Margo's stomach rumbles that they shift positions, both looking down at the offending appendage in fear. "I'm sorry Aunt Ruth," the girl says quietly, sinking further back into the cushions.

"It's alright," Ruth says softly, smiling weakly as she reaches over to the girl to squeeze her hand. "We should get some super." She has to pause a moment as she thinks to what she has in her pantry. Realizing nothing but a can of sardines, she quickly looks between the two. "How about some pizza take away?"

Their resounding yes has her smile growing as she decides to take this one step at a time.


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: Again I have to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews. Your thoughts, feedback, and generally positive acceptance of this story prompted me to finish chapter 3 today instead of waiting. Our favorite spy makes an appearance in this chapter. =0)**_

_**Thank you to Sigma Creations for reading through this quickly, pointing out my typos, and offering your insight. :)**_

* * *

It's still a few hours before the sun is set to rise when Ruth steps quietly from her bedroom. Inside, Matthew sleeps in a clothes basket that's been padded with folded sheets; not the best sleeping arrangement, she knows, but it's the only option she could think of the night before. Sometime today she's going to have to venture out to the store with three children, and no pushcart, to purchase everything that they could possibly need.

Not something she is looking forward to.

But now, at half past five in the morning, when the house is silent, she is able to think. And to plan.

The night before, after she had settled the older two children in the lone bed in her box room, she had sat at the kitchen table and called her mother. Their conversation had been brief, her mother informing her Angela and she had spoken and both had agreed it was time for Ruth to make a sacrifice for the family. Peter was gone; he could not get over the loss of his previous charge, PD, and had abandoned his family over the summer; Angela had tried, but even with their help, handling three children had been impossible for her.

When Ruth had attempted to argue that she was a single woman with no experience handling children, her mother had told her she was a smart and resourceful woman, more so than Angela, who had job responsibilities, and there was no reason she could not take on the three children. Any argument would not be heard, her mother had informed her the official guardianship papers would be in the post, and she'd call on Christmas morning to wish the children well.

That Ruth _and_ Peter were such disappointments to David and her.

And then she had hung up.

Ruth had been left starring at the receiver, unable to fathom just what was wrong with her mother, step-father, and sister-in-law that they would think in any circumstances it was acceptable to leave three children on the stoop of a house in London. She knows she should call someone, child protective services perhaps, but at the same time, she knows what it feels like to not be wanted by ones parents, to be alone in the world, and she can't wish that on her nephews and niece.

That she had decided the night before.

Which means she has a lot to do and figure out in the short amount of time all three are asleep, but first, she needs to call off work.

Which means she has to call Harry.

Sitting on the top step, she looks at her mobile for a few minutes, fingers sliding over the numbers as she thinks about what she's going to say. How does one tell the man they are in love with that they're now responsible for three small children? And what does that say about her relationship with him that that is the first thought to pop in her mind, and not how does she tell her boss? Sucking in a deep breath, she presses and holds the number 1, waiting as the phone connects.

"What?" The voice on the other end is groggy and full of sleep, deeper than normal, and twists her stomach in knots. "Hello?"

"Harry, it's Ruth," she says, shaking her head to clear her thoughts as she hears the anger behind the sleep.

"Oh. Is there a red flash?" His voice is softer, less angry, but no less distant than it has been the past few months.

"What? Oh – no. It's..uh," she's hesitant at first, wondering how to say this, "it's personal."

"I wasn't aware there was a personal for us," he says, an edge forming in his voice.

"Harry, please, can we not do this now? You know there's a personal for us; a complicated personal; but a personal none-the-less. I just…now's not a good time. Not for me." She's nervous now and feeling a large amount of guilt for her part in the strain of their relationship, and she knows she has to be the one to bridge this gap between them. How, she doesn't know, but she will. For now though, "I won't be able to come in today."

"What's wrong?" he asks, and she can hear the change in his voice, more than a touch of concern, as well as the rustle of what she can only guess are sheets.

Which puts images in her mind that are better off not there right now. Images of Harry, in bed, just the tw…

"Ruth?"

"Sorry," she says, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. "There's been a…" She's cut off by a loud thud and a scream followed by crying in the room next to her. Startled, she stands, hand reaching out to grip the banister as she turns and steps back into the hall. "I have to go, Harry."

Without another thought, she hangs up the phone and hurries into the room, unsure what she's going to find.

* * *

45 minutes later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen, baby in one arm, two older children quietly sitting at the table, as she attempts to poach eggs one handed. It's only a bit after 6, but she knows none of them will be getting any more sleep, not after Margo had fallen from the bed, landing loudly on the hard floor. She'd been apologetic and almost fearful that Ruth was going to be angry and yell for something that was beyond the little girl's control.

She'd been anything but.

Fear had gripped her at first as thoughts of every injury the girl could possibly have given herself ran through her mind, but it soon became apparent that aside from a bumped arm and leg, the girl was more scared than anything. A cuddle and some reassurance had soon had the cries turning to hiccups and a watery kiss on the cheek, and Ruth had felt immense relief that she had seemingly come through her first minor hurdle as a caregiver.

But now, breakfast, was turning into a challenge. Cooking a poached egg and soldiers is easy, cooking a poached egg and soldiers with a 6-month old in arms is difficult. She's just dropped her second attempt into the water when the doorbell rings. Looking from the children to the door, she frowns, before stepping away.

Reaching the door, she sees a familiar shape on the other side and groans.

Harry.

She had hung up on him without rhyme or reason. Hurrying, she unlocks the door one handed and pulls it open. There, on her front stoop, is the one man who can render her dumb and mute in a single glance, dressed in tan trousers and a red jumper, his hair mused as he looks from her to the baby in her arms.

* * *

_**AN: I know to some, Ruth's mother's actions are unrealistic, please know I based her actions on real circumstances. There are people out there like her.**_

_**If you've the time, please take a moment and leave a review, there's only 7 days until Christmas after all. ;)**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN: A quick update tonight as I have a pair of slippers to finish crocheting by Christmas and it was more than a hectic day at work. Hope you enjoy.**_

* * *

They stand in the open doorway, starring at one another, neither knowing who is more surprising; Ruth in her fleece pajama pants covered in silly cats and an old t-shirt, Harry in his casual clothes with his hair askew. And for Harry, things are even more interesting as Ruth holds a baby that she hadn't had the day before. At least as far as he's aware.

And he's much more aware of what's going on in her life; both work and person; than he's willing to admit to anyone. Especially her. Rubbing his eyes, he blinks once, twice, three times to make sure he's not dreaming, but a pinch to his arm has him confirming he's really awake and Ruth is really holding a baby.

"Hi," he says a sheepishly as he continues to stare.

"Hi." Her answer back is just as sheepish as she fully realizes he's there because of her, because she's hung up on him without any type of warning.

They don't have time to say anything else as a little blonde haired girl comes running into hall screaming for Ruth, something about eggs and water.

* * *

"You know, you can put him down," Harry says, turning to look at her from his place at the stove. He's boiling the eggs for her as she butters toast one handed.

"Where? I don't have a cot, I don't have one of those pen things, and if I set him on the table, he could roll off," she says back, looking up at him. "It's bad enough he slept in a clothes basket last night."

"Why didn't you call?" he asks, turning back to the eggs to fish one out. "Last night," he clarifies. "I would have helped."

"How can I," she asks, turning back to the toast as her voice drops to a mournful tone, "when I pushed you away out of fear?"

He stops mid-scoop, and turns back to her. "Ruth, you should know that I would do _anything_ for you."

That stops her, and as she stares at the toast, Ruth realizes that perhaps Harry's feelings equal hers. Placing the knife down, she looks at her nephew before turning back towards Harry. He's still starring at her, his eyes unguarded for the first time in months, and she has to smile.

"And I for you," she says softly, looking down briefly before smiling at him again.

Before he can say anything, he feels a tug at his shirt. Breaking eye contact with Ruth, he looks down to see the blonde girl called Margo pulling at him, a hesitant look on her face.

"Mr. Harry can I has an egg now?"

Hand ruffling her hair, he smiles and turns back to his task of boiling eggs. "We'll talk later Ruth."


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN: So I think a bit of my friend D slipped into this as he was talking to me as I was trying to write. If Harry gets a bit OOC, I apologize now and blame it entirely on him, but I couldn't get it out of my head once it was in there. Another short update as I need to research their excursion into shopping a bit more before posting it. Hope you enjoy this small offering.**_

* * *

"We need a plan of attack," Harry says as he sets a cup of tea in front of Ruth and sits next to her.

"I started one last night," she admits, handing him the paper that had been sitting in front of her. While he looks over the list, she checks on the children; Matthew sitting in his carry cot set in the middle of the kitchen table as Markus and Marguerite write out letters to Santa in the sitting room. Well, Markus is writing, Marguerite is suggesting. "But my lack of experience with children means I've probably forgot a lot."

"Well, number one and two are taken care of; I already know," he says with a smile, "and I've called Adam to ask him to request an analyst from 6, so another thing to cross off your list."

"I'm coming back when I've this all figured out." There's a defensive overtone to her comment as she looks from the baby to him. "I'm not leaving 5 and I'm not leaving the Section."

"No one ever said you were." Looking up from the paper, he hesitates a moment before covering her hand with his. She doesn't flinch or pull away and so he relaxes as he continues, "_I_ don't _want_ you to leave, but you do need more than a day to settle everything." Subconsciously he begins running his thumb along her knuckles, smiling at her. "Not that you're doing it alone, I'm here for the duration."

"I can't ask that of you, it's not fair," she mutters, biting back a smile as he continues to rub her hand. "Not after everything that's happened."

"Ruth," he says lowly, causing a shiver to rush down her spine, "it was a hiccup, nothing we can't get past. Now is not the time to talk about it," he says, voice dropping even lower as his hand stills. "Once we've gotten the children situated. But I'm not giving up on you, on us, not now when I know we can be fabulous."

"I didn't give up on us these past few months," she admits softly, her eyes meeting his intense gaze. "And I don't want to either. But Harry, I'm not giving up the children, I decided that last night."

"No one's asking you too."

"No, I mean at all. They need someone in their life who wants them, who will make sure they know they're loved and who will put them first. And from the sounds of things, Angela never has." Taking a chance, she turns her hand over to squeeze his fingers. "I can't ask you to wait because they will always be in my life."

"Ruth for someone so smart, sometimes you're dense." He says it without malice as he tightens his fingers on hers. "I know the children will be in your, no_our,_ life. I'm not going to run away from a minor challenge." Smiling at her, he squeezes her fingers once more before releasing her hand to pick up her list again. "Now, enough about that, let's figure out what's next."

"I was thinking shopping," she says, a small smile on her face at the thought that for now, he's not giving up.


	6. Chapter 6

_**AN: Sorry for the delay in posting, RL has gotten in the way, or more specifically a bit of a concussion. Wanted to get an update out to you, even as small as it is. Hope you enjoy and if you've a moment, please leave a review. More soonish.**_

* * *

"Alright," she says with a sigh, "it's just you and I." With a pause and a hand on the child's stomach, she looks at the computer to her right, "well, and the computer." Free hand tapping at the keys, she brings up the website and begins to read.

"Clean nappy, baby wipes, barrier cream, plastic bin bag. Check, check, check, and check." Looking from the computer to her nephew, she smiles. "We can do this."

Carefully she pulls at the sticky tab holding the nappy closed, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she concentrates on the task at hand. The sticky tab sticks though and she's fighting to not rip the nappy when Harry steps into the room. He stops in the door, a grin filling his face as she triumphantly coos and pulls the soiled diaper away.

"You want to cov..." he doesn't get to finish his sentence as Ruth is showered in a stream of golden liquid. Hand raising to cover his laugh, Harry steps further into the room as she stutters, her free hand wiping at the liquid running down her face. Kneeling next to her, he slides his hand over hers while lying the clean nappy over the boy's little bits. "First rule of parenting a little boy; when changing nappies, cover their penis or you're liable to get a shower." Nudging her shoulder with his, he leans closer as he moves to take over. "Go get cleaned up, take a shower. I'll finish changing Matthew and then we'll go to Tesco."

* * *

"I don't know where all of this is going to fit," Ruth mutters, looking from the boot of the SUV to across the seat where Harry is diligently strapping in the young Margo who's taken quite a liking to him.

His hands pause in tightening the belt and he glances up, question in his eyes.

"We've filled the boot and have more being delivered, it's all not going to fit in my flat," she clarifies, checking that Matthew is secure.

"It's no more than most children need and have Ruth," he says, going back to fastening the belt. "It'll all fit, I promise you. We'll just need to move some things around."

"We?" she asks, eyebrow lifting as she meets his gaze once again.

"We. You didn't think I'd leave you to this alone, did you?"

"Well, you do have to work, I know that, and there's..." she trails off as she flushes, realizing she's about to bring up what they haven't had a chance to discuss yet - their non-relationship that is.

"Work is easily handled. I've enough holiday time put away to take the year off and the DG knows it. With a little persuasion, he agreed. Tomorrow I'll go in to officially hand over the department for the remainder of the year and then I'm all yours for the next month." It's his turn to flush as he realizes what it is he's said and implied. Quickly, he straightens, clearing his throat as he tries for damage control. "What I mean is, I'm here. To help you. Care for the children."

"Thank you," she says, a soft but honest smile on her face. And she means it. "I think there's a lot I'm going to need help with."


	7. Chapter 7

_**AN: An update finally. Sorry for the lack of them, still trying to find the inner muse as she rolls around my knackered brain.**_

* * *

He's sat on the floor of Ruth's bedroom, Matthew in his carry cot to his left, a finished cot on his right while all the while doing his very best not to be curious and look around the room. Down the hall, he can hear the commotion of Ruth and the older two moving boxes and generally making space in the small, second bedroom. For the past hour, while he assembled the cot, Matthew has been studiously chewing on his fingers, watching him intently. Setting down the screw driver, Harry reaches out and gives the cot a shake, smiling as it barely wobbles.

Perfect.

Turning his full attention to the infant beside him, Harry smiles and undoes the straps. Lifting the boy free, he settles him in his arms and gives him a finger to grip. "What do you think?" he asks, turning slightly so Matthew is facing the cot.

His only answer is a grunt followed by a scrunched, red face.

Harry just sighs, knowing what that face means.

"Great."

* * *

It's only 8.30 when Ruth sinks wearily onto the sofa, her body aching and something; she _thinks_ mashed potato; in her hair. The children are finally in bed, asleep, and she knows she's not going to be too far behind. 48 hours on the Grid has never left her feeling this bone weary and spent. Next to her, the cushion dips, and she feels the warm press of Harry's thigh, arm, and side against hers.

Too tired to think about the implications or possible repercussions, she lets her head fall onto his shoulder and sighs deeply at the sense of total contentment that washes over her. She feels him stiffen for all of a second before his body relaxes, his arm rising to wrap itself firmly around her shoulders. Shifting slightly, she leans further into him, her cheek resting in the juncture where chest meets arm as her eyes drift closed.

"I think today went well," Harry says softly a few minutes later, eyes never leaving the messy brunette hair.

"It did," Ruth mutters, moving her head slightly so she can meet his eyes. "Until Margo refused to take a nap, Markus broke the telly playing football, and Matthew decided he _doesn't_ like mash. Oh and we can't forget the fight over who gets which side of the box room." She stops there, sighing. "This isn't going to be as easy as I wanted it to be, is it?"

"Honestly? No." He watches the crestfallen look settle on her face and squeezes her tightly. "But being a first time parent is never easy. We'll get through it."

There it is again. The we'll. Not she'll; _we'll_. As though he has half the responsibility of caring for the three upstairs asleep.

"Stop thinking," he says, rightly interpreting the look on her face.

"I can't help it," she whispers, lifting her head so she can turn fully towards him. "Harry, we need to talk. You keep saying we. _We_ have a lot of work to do. _We'll_ get through it. It's as though your accepting responsibility for the children. You can't."

"Why?" He turns to face her. "Ruth, even without everything between us, you're my friend. One of the closest I have at this point in my life, and as a friend, I'd be here to help. But you're more than that." Taking a chance, he reaches over to lightly grip her hand. "I care a great deal for you, Ruth, and I think you feel the same towards me."

"I do," she says lightly, turning her hand to rest her palm against his. Fingers curling, she gently holds his hand. "But Harry, I can't ask this of you. If things don't work out between us, the children..."

"Will still have me around. On the off chance we don't work out," his voice is low as he watches her, his thumb tracing a soothing path across the flesh of her hand as he reassures her against something he knows won't happen, "I would still consider you a friend and the children as well."

"I'm not trying to be hurtful, but your ex-wife, your children..."

"Are a moot point." he says firmly, though not as harshly as he would were Adam or Zaf the ones bringing them up. "I was young and a fool. Not only for cheating on my wife and ruining my relationship with my children, but for the whole Jane situation. We were never suited for one another, not for more than a few dates. Only I didn't realize that until we'd been married for six months and she told me she was pregnant. At that point, it became obvious the only compatibility we had was sexually, but it was too late to do anything but continue on in a miserable existence." Hand gripping hers, he pulls her closer again so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders. "Ruth, I'm not the man I was then. Do I still believe sex is important to a relationship? Yes. But it can't be the only thing. If the sex goes away, there needs to be something else there. Jane and I never had that. You and I have so much more."

"Except the sex." Her voice is soft as she looks up at him, a hint of red to her cheeks as she accepts what he has said, knowing he won't lie to her now. "We may not be compatible in that regard. We've not..." she trails off, her blush growing as she lowers her eyes. "And I'm not exactly screaming sex appeal."

"I happen to find you incredibly sexy, but now," he says, leaning towards her ear, "is not the time to show you just how much."

Head whipping up, Ruth stares at him in shock, only to find herself being kissed a moment later.

* * *

_**AN: If you've a moment or two, I'd love a review.**_


	8. Chapter 8

"How did the handoff go?" Ruth asks as she leads the way into her kitchen.

"Alright," Harry replies, following her down the hall. As she turns to smile at him, he smiles back, wanting nothing more at that moment than to reach forward and pull her into his arms for a repeat of the sweet kisses they had shared the night before. But before he can reach for her, they're through to the kitchen and he stops.

To stare.

What was a clean, organized space the night before has seen utter devastation settle upon it. Books lie open and face down on the table, on the counters, and on the floor. A half assembled car track runs around the table legs, a set of Barbie dolls and they're accompanying clothes next to the stacked cushions where Margo has been sitting. As he looks about, he takes in something looking like mashed peas on the ceiling light fixture and a bowl of dried cat food tipped and scattered everywhere.

"It's awful, I know."

The quiet voice to his left has him turning, the threat of tears in her eyes has him crossing to her and pulling her to him. As his arms wrap around her to pull her tight, he feels her own cling to his back, her face pressing into her chest and the prickle of wet tears soak through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Oh Ruth," he whispers, bending his head low to press his lips against her hair.

"I tried," her muffled voice comes from his chest, her shoulders shaking slightly. "Really, I did. But it was awful. Nothing I tried would make them happy, they didn't like my cooking, Markus wanted his dad, Matthew his mum; I think; and Marguerite spent the entire night throwing a fit at having to share a room with her brother." She pulls her head back to look at him and he sees the tear stains on her cheeks. Hand lifting to her head, he gently pushes it back to his chest. "And all three have done nothing but destroy things all day."

"We'll get it cleaned up," he says of the mess. "And tomorrow we'll sort out the kids."

* * *

It's nearing 11 when everything is picked up, cleaned, and put back to its rightful home. Matthew has woken up once for a diaper change; Harry insisting he take care of it; and now both have settled onto the couch in the same positions they had occupied the night before, Ruth curled into Harry's side, his arm thrown securely around her shoulders.

"Thank you," Ruth sighs, feeling Harry tighten his grip as she rests her head against him. "I know you didn't come over here to clean."

"Stop. There's nothing for you to apologize for," he mutters, crossing his legs at the ankles as he relaxes into the cushions. As he feels Ruth press herself closer, he lets his eyes drift closed. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, we're in this together."

"It doesn't seem fair," she gets out, a yawn overtaking her. "You've worked all day and come home to help me clean."

"Hmm, part of being a parent," his own yawn deep.

"I just can't figure out what's wrong with them. They were fine yesterday."

She waits a moment, for Harry to answer, but when he doesn't, she opens an eye and looks at him. Finding him asleep, she hesitates a moment before reaching a hand to the back of the sofa. There, she finds a thick blanket. Pulling it over them, she yawns against before closing her eyes and leaning against him.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you ALL for the wonderful reviews and places you'd like to see this go. I can promise, I will try and work as many of the scenes that you'd all like to see in in upcoming chapters. This is just a quick update before falling asleep to set up the next planned chapter. *hugs to all* If you've a moment, I'd love another review if possible.**_


	9. Chapter 9

The quiet in the house is a familiar, comforting occurrence as Harry slowly comes awake.

The sound of gentle breathing by his left shoulder and the warm breath accompanying it to wash over his cheek is not.

Nor is the lumpy cushion under his head or the sagging mattress beneath his back. For a moment, dread fills him; one borne of the thought that he had become so inebriated the previous night that he rightly cocked up any chance of moving forward into a relationship with Ruth. And all for a quick tumble with some random bar fly.

That though, doesn't seem right as there's no feeling of being hung-over or still drunk in his mind or body.

And yet, that would be the only way he would ever find himself in bed with anyone other than Ruth.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he opens his eyes and blinks. As his eyes focus in the dim light of a side lamp, he can make out an unfamiliar textured ceiling above his head, and as he's more awake now than he was a moment ago, he can feel the weight of another person resting against him. Bending his chin to his chest, he looks at the mess of brunette hair falling across him, and feels a large smile break across his face.

Even fully clothed, waking with Ruth in his arms is one of the greatest mornings of his life.

Sometime during the night, they had fallen asleep on the sofa. He vaguely remembers them sitting down together and talking about something, but at the time, he remembers them sitting up.

Not so much anymore.

Now they're stretched out across the length of said sofa, a blanket draped across Ruth's back, Ruth draped across him. He's unsure of the time, and he's loath to move the arm he has round Ruth to check his watch. Though judging by the darkness still outside the window, and the lack of noise as well, he'd hazard a guess that it's still early morning.

The children are still asleep. Ruth's still asleep. Not a creature is stirring. And as it's Saturday, no one has anywhere to be. For once, he's going to be indulgent.

He's going back to sleep.

* * *

Fresh from the shower, Ruth's sits at the kitchen table, eating the plate of pancakes Harry has sat in front of her. In the sitting room, having finished their breakfast, Marguerite and Markus are quietly playing, while in his seat, Matthew is quietly playing with a toy and watching her. With his back to her, Harry is just finishing his own plate of pancakes, humming to himself. The domesticness of the scene, as well as the entire morning, were creating warm feelings in the pit of her stomach.

She's not about to complain.

In far off fantasies she had often contemplated what it would be like to be married to Harry, perhaps a child or two in their lives, and having quiet mornings together on off days. But that had been far off in the land of never-going-to-happen. Or so she'd thought.

Now, she's sitting at the kitchen table, infant in his carry cot while two older ones play in the sitting room, and Harry's at the stove. It's picturesque.

"Penny for."

"What?" she asks, looking up from her plate.

"You're in deep thought," Harry says, smiling as he sits in the chair next to her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says, blushing as she looks back down at her plate. "Just enjoying the pancakes. I'll admit to thinking you didn't know how to cook."

"I've been a bachelor for a long many years, I can cook. It's just not something I normally have time to do." Looking down at his plate, he uses his fork to cut a square off and lift it to his mouth. "And just so you know, I'm enjoying my time here with you and the kids too."

She looks up than, surprised yet again how well he can tell what she's thinking.

As he finishes chewing, he smiles once against at her, setting his fork on the table before reaching over to cover her hand. Squeezing her fingers, he looks to the children once before meeting her eyes.

"I've something I want to talk to you about."

* * *

_**AN: A small, second update for tonight. It just seemed like it needed it's own scene instead of being lumped into another one. Thank you for the four people who reviewed the last chapter. Hope you enjoy and please leave a review. =0)**_


	10. Chapter 10

"Aunt Ruth?" the voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?" she inquires, fingers fighting with the zip of the bright purple coat. Teeth biting her bottom lip, Ruth yanks at the caught fabric, cursing 'Thing' as the coat rips. Turning it sideways, she examines the rip, happy to see it's not as major as she initially thought. Lying the metal against the coat, she smiles brightly at the girl, reaching down to pick up the bright green, knit hat. Setting it on the messy pony tail she had managed to scrape Marguerite's hair into earlier, she grins as the little one is finally together. "There!"

"Aunt Ruth?" Margo tries again, fidgeting and gripping the bottom of the coat.

"What's wrong sweetie?" Ruth asks, seeing the girl's nervousness. Whatever it is, it's okay. I promise." With this, she squeezes the small hands holding the hem and lifts them in her own.

"I has to go loo." Brown eyes wide, the little girl waits for her aunt to yell.

"Oh," Ruth says with a soft sigh, grabbing the knit cap to pull it free. Unzipping the coat, she helps the four year old pull it off, setting it on her knee as the girl scampers away. Lying it on the floor, she turns to the infant she's sat in the carry cot. "Guess it's your turn to get ready."

* * *

Standing in the front garden of a large, Victorian house, Harry shoves his hands in his trouser pockets and waits. It's colder than previous days, a northern wind making it downright chilly outside, and he's about to take Scarlett and wait in the house when he spots the motely troupe making its way down the street. Gripping the lead tightly, he crosses to the gate and opens it, grinning as Margo skips down the pavement, her tiny hand gripped in her older brother's bigger one.

Behind them, Ruth is pushing a pram, watching the two older ones as she struggles to juggle a diaper bag, her purse, and a bag of snacks, her attention fully on them and thus not seeing him. But Margo does and she quickly releases Markus' hand, running towards him with a happy cry.

"Mr. Harry!" Sliding to a stop by his side, she spots the dog and squeals, jumping up and down as she reaches out to pet the dogs head. "A doggy!"

Squatting down, Harry runs his own hand over the dogs head, ruffling her fur as he reaches out with his free hand to grip Margo's. "Her name's Scarlett."

"Hi Scarlett!"

Laughing, Harry watches a moment as the two get acquainted before pushing up from the ground, grunting as he stands in front of Ruth.

"Hi," he says, sliding his hand back in his trouser pocket.

"Hi," she says back, hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Sorry we're late. Getting three kids together in the morning takes a lot longer than I thought it would. First we got out coats on, then Margo had to use the loo, than Matthew did a number two in his diaper and I needed to change him. Then we had to put everyone's coats back on. And by then, we had missed the bus and had to take the tube..."

"Ruth," Harry says softly, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek softly, "breathe. You're not that late, and even if you were, so what. You're here now."

"We are, aren't we?" She looks down a moment, blushing at the softness in his voice and the feeling of his hand on her cheek, before lifting her gaze back to him. "But where is here?"

Harry smiles, reaching down to take her hand in his before turn back to the house. Squeezing it, he stares at the building for a moment, glancing at the two children who have run into the yard, playing together in the crisp, morning air.

"Your new house."

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_**AN: Hope you enjoyed. The house'll be explained tomorrow in another short chapter. Thank you **__**all**__** for the wonderful reviews and the great ideas you've had for what you'd like to see. I promise to try and work as many of them in as I can. If you've a moment and can leave another review, it would my night/day.**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**AN: A bit of a longer chapter than late; rosetintedblindspot found my missing muse and gave it PF porn. :D Alright, it wasn't porn, but it was lovely pictures of his feet, which for some reason, I love on that man; and I'm not a foot woman. Hopefully more tomorrow, I've an idea what the next chapter is bringing, it's just getting it onto paper. Sorry Mja, I don't think there'll be any major snogging sessions next chapter either, but you never know, the muse might change its mind. :)**_

* * *

"Harry, I think we need to talk," Ruth says as she comes to a stop in the front hall, her hands moving to the zip of her coat. The children have run to the back of the house as soon as their coats were removed and she can hear their muted voices through the walls, worry nipping at her even though Harry's assured her they're perfectly safe. As Harry hangs up his coat and undoes Scarlett's lead, she moves to the open doorway of the sitting room – and freezes.

The entire room is furnished in elegant, antique furnishings of gleaming dark English oak and a deep navy paisley pattern, balanced by the lightness of the cream wool curtains and the silk Damask wallpaper. Along the far side wall is a large, wood burning fireplace made of gray stone and lined in the same dark oak as the furnishings. Flanking it are two narrow floor-to-ceiling windows; their style matching the twin sets overlooking the front garden. The floor is covered in a large oriental rug, the edges of the room the same polished oak. And all throughout various decorations sit.

Behind her, she feels Harry step close, and she tenses as his left hand settles in the center of her lower back. Through the material of her shirt, she can feel the heat of his skin.

"Relax," he whispers, his breath hot as it moves against her ear.

Turning to her right and looking over her shoulder, she locks eyes with him. "Harry, we _really_ need to talk."

"We do, yes, but it's not what you're thinking." As he says this, he shifts his hold on Matthew, making her aware for the first time that as she's been gazing about the room, he's taken the time to remove the thick winter suit from the boy and pulled him from his carry cot. Now he rests against Harry's chest, held securely with his right arm and hand.

"What am I thinking?" she inquires, ignoring for the moment the warmth that floods her at seeing him hold the infant so naturally. Stepping forward, she moves away from his hand and further into the room, hearing him sigh behind her as she crosses to settle in a wingback chair to the side of the unlit fire. "Could it possibly be that I concede to both our feelings of exploring a relationship between us and you shoot ahead at lightning speed, and for all appearances', buy a fully furnished house?"

"Yes," he says with a smile, sitting down in the chair next to her. "I was thinking you'd think that, but I can promise you, it's not what you're thinking." Adjusting his hold on Matthew, he settles the boy on his knee, ensuring that the infant is fully supported as he lies back against his chest. "I've owned this house for some time, though I've never lived in it. It's always been much too big for just me."

"Then why own it?" she asks, eyebrows crinkling as she tries to follow along, but finding herself more confused then she had been before.

"It was my dad's and his before that and his before that." He stops a moment, shifting himself in the chair. "Actually, it's been in the Pearce family for at least 200 years, though we've not always lived in it. The last was my father, moving into it again a few years ago after my brother died, so he was closer to my children and me, but when he passed last year, it came to me. Aside from having the entire house modernized with new windows, a new furnace, and more up-to-date appliances and plumbing, the place has stood empty."

"Oh Harry, I'm sorry about your father." Reaching out, she lies her hand over his and squeezes, ignoring for the moment the elephant in the room; the apparentness of his wanting to give her his family's home."

"It's alright," he says, smiling at her as he tightly squeezes her hand in his. "He developed Alzheimer's a few years ago and was not well that last year. He's much better off now; with my mum and brother; then he was during his last year." Sliding his fingers between hers, he lets their hands rest on the arm of the chair.

"Still," she says softly, trying to ignore the butterflies settling in her stomach that seem to always develop with prolonged physical contact with Harry. "I'm sorry. You never said anything."

He shrugs a shoulder, not having a good reason except for his being a private person, even where Ruth is concerned. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Ruth's hand still held in his as she looks around the room with a new regard for it. As her eyes meet his again, she smiles and shakes her head.

"It's a beautiful house, but Harry, you can't just give it to me."

"I wasn't planning on it," he tells her, mentally adding 'at least on paper'. "I'm loath to sell it as it is a piece of my family history, but I also don't wish to lease it to just anyone. Your current flat is much too small for you and three children."

"And this is entirely too grand a house for me to rent. Harry, you know how much I make, there's no way I could ever afford the rent for a month."

"Ah," he says with a smile, squeezing her hand. "But you can."

"No, I can't. Harry, I won't accept charity." She moves to take her hand from him, her smile slipping at the thought that he _thinks_ she needs financial assistance to care for her niece and nephews.

"Ruth," his voice is low but pointed as he keeps his grip on her hand tight, "it's not charity. You need the space, I need to lease this house to someone I can trust. I've already spoken to my solicitor and had him come up with a reasonable but fair price for renting the house." What he doesn't add is the monies collected would be put in an account for Ruth and the children; to be given to her should anything happen to him, as well as the house fully transferring to her. "He's drawn up an agreement that you'd just need to sign."

She's quiet a moment, thinking over everything he's said. She _does_ need a larger; she had been thinking of that before Harry had shown up the night before; and had been dreading the thought of trying to find something reasonable in her price range. The house is so large though, and has to be so completely out of her budget range. "We'd have a written agreement?"

"On file with the solicitor." He confirms, thumb gently stroking the top of her hand.

"The rent has to be comparable to houses of the same size in this neighborhood."

"It will be a reasonable amount for the house, _not_ the neighborhood. You're doing me a favor by renting it," he throws in quickly at the look on her face, wanting to cut off any arguments she may come up with. "Any money is more than I was making previously."

"Alright," she says softly a few minutes later, her eyes on his, a smile pulling at her mouth as she watches him break into a huge grin.

"We'll go and sign them in a bit. I want to show you the house first."

* * *

_**If you've a moment, I'd love a review to know what you thought; good or bad. :)**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**AN: Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay in updating, this chapter did not want to be written. I think I've re-written it five times before giving up and sharing with you what it's come out as. Hope you enjoy.**_

* * *

**One Week Later**

She's standing in the bright kitchen, four medium sized chicken breasts on a cutting board in front of her. To her right; lying down; is a recipe for baked chicken tenders, something she has never made before. A reasonably decent home chef, Ruth never finds much reason to cook when it's just her, and so she's enjoying trying new things. Easy things. Child-friendly things.

Like these chicken tenders.

Marguerite had asked for them along with chips, and though she has never attempted to make anything like this before, she's willing tonight. Anything to bring a smile to the morose girl. All day she's been extremely quiet, a far cry from the normally upbeat and energetic girl she's been most days since the kids arrived. Ever more worrisome is the fact that Marguerite seemingly refuses to leave Ruth from her sight, clinging to her while Markus is outside playing in the back garden.

"Aunt Ruth?"

"Margo?" she inquires at the soft voice, looking up from her examination of the breasts to the girl colouring on the other side of the counter.

"Was I bad?" the girl asks, laying her crayon down on the counter.

"Of course not!" Ruth exclaims. "Why would you think you were?"

"Mr. Harry stopped coming over." Voice wavering, the little girl looks down, wiping at her eyes as a large tear drop splashes onto the colouring book. "Daddy went away and mummy said it was because Markus and I were bad kids. And when she left us here, she said Matthew was bad too and she didn't want us anymore." By now, tears are flowing freely down the girls face and Ruth feels her heart break. "I try be good," she says through a sob, "I promise. But he not come back."

"Oh sweetie, you've not been bad, I promise," Ruth says, hurrying around the counter to draw the small girl into her arms. Holding her tightly, she presses her lips against the fine blonde hair she had finally managed to plait this morning. "Harry had an emergency at work and had to go there, that's all."

"He doesn't hate me?" The voice is muffled as Marguerite is pressing her face against Ruth's chest, but Ruth can still understand her.

"Of course not! How could he hate you? You're his favourite Princess." Gently lifting the girl's head, she wipes tears away from her cheeks and kisses her softly, smiling as the girl rubs her nose against hers. "I have an idea, why don't we see if Harry can talk on the phone?"

"Can we?" Excited now, Margo smiles at her aunt.

"Yes. But if he's too busy to talk right now, it's not because he's mad at you, but because he's busy." At the girl's nod, Ruth reaches for her mobile and dials through to Harry. It rings for a few minutes and she's about to hang up when she hears him answer gruffly.

"What?" He sounds tired and frustrated, making Ruth feel guilty for not being there in whatever crisis is occurring.

"Harry, it's Ruth." She waits a moment, smiling at Margo, before continuing. "I'm sorry for bothering you, I know you're busy."

"Ruth," with just her name, his voice changes, the frustration lowering, and she has to smile. "What time is it?"

"6.20," she says, picturing him leaning back in his chair, running a weary hand across his face as she's seen him do across the Grid numerous times during any number of crisis.

"God," is all he says.

"Do you have a second?"

"Not really," he answers, and she can hear him shifting in his chair, "but I'll make it anyway. What's wrong?"

"Nothing really," she says, not wanting to go into Margo's fears right now while he has enough going on, "I've just a little girl who's missing you and wants to say hi."

"Put her on." His answer is immediate and she knows he hasn't thought about it, just reacted.

"Okay, hold on." Handing the phone to the girl, she watches as Marguerite smiles fully for the first time that day and starts talking to Harry, telling him all they've done in the three days he's been working.

* * *

It's been almost 72 hours since he's hand any real sleep when Harry unlocks the door. Behind it, what has quickly become four of the most important people in his life are not expecting him, but he's hoping that Ruth won't toss him out. He misses them greatly, and it wasn't until Ruth and Margo's phone call that he realized how much. The team not getting anywhere on their case, he had fretted about how much longer it would be until he could leave when Adam had tossed him off the Grid.

It speaks for how much he didn't want to be there that he didn't put up much of a fight.

Instead he had set out some instructions, drained his whisky glass, and left, only pausing long enough to gather his carryall from a closet before going to his Range Rover.

As he steps into the front hall and closes the front door, he can hear their cheerful voices coming from the back of the house. Resetting the alarm, he sets his carryall on the floor and removes his coat, dropping it with the bag. Toeing off his shoes, he pads sockfoot down the hall, smiling as Scarlet runs to meet him. Rubbing the top of her head, he follows the sound to the kitchen and family room, stopping in the large open space to watch the four.

All four are settled around the low coffee table, Margo and Markus on opposite sides banging away at little hippos eating white balls, while Ruth sits on another end between them, Matthew in his bouncy seat next to her. It seems as though she's watching them for now, her free hand bouncing the seat as Matthew chews on a cloth toy. Harry has to smile as he watches his 'family', thrilled to be here with them.

He's unsure how long he's been standing there when Margo spots him. Abandoning the game, she jumps up, happily crying out his name as she flies across the room. Bending down, he intercepts her as she throws her arms around his neck, hugging her close as she kisses his cheek and holding him tightly. Carrying her across the room, he ruffles Markus' hair before kissing Margo's cheek and setting her down. Watching as she scampers back to her side of the table, he lowers himself to the floor next to Ruth and smiles.

"Hi," she says, smiling back as he slides him arm around her, grabbing Matthew's foot and gently pulling on it.

"Hi," is his answer, his eyes moving from the infants to hers. Without much thought, he leans forward, catching her lips with his.

* * *

_**AN: A bit of a time jump for you there. Hope you don't mind. =0) Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and I hope that this lived up to your expectations.**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**AN: I apologize for the delay in posting, RL got in the way. Hopefully this is worth the wait and you'll leave a review if you've the time.**_

* * *

Night has long since settled upon the Evershed-Haigh household when an exhausted Ruth squats down to help an overtly excited Marguerite brush her teeth. The arrival of Harry the hour before has wound the children up, Matthew being the only one to settle quickly with his nighttime bottle and nappy change. Now, Harry's helping Markus with some secret project they'd started whispering about after cleaning up Hungry, Hungry Hippos and Marguerite is anxiously awaiting story time with Harry.

"And Mr. Harry said he's going to read _all_ the rabbit story to me!" The excitement of the little girl has toothpaste spittle splattering across Ruth's face. Anguish that only a four year old can display fills Margo's face and she quickly starts rubbing at Ruth's face with her toothbrush. "I'm sorry mummy Ruth! I didn't mean too."

"It's alright," Ruth says, her heart catching in her throat at the apology, the warmth of being called mummy for the first time evoking a feeling she has never experienced before. Blinking, she fights against the tears that want to fall and accepts the hug her niece is giving her, managing to forget that they're in the midst of brushing teeth, and thus misses the toothbrush full of paste and spit being shoved into the back of her hair.

Hand rising, she brushes the silky blonde hair of the little girl and smiles, standing as Margo lets her go to rinse her brush and mouth. Seeing movement in the hall, she turns her head and catches Harry's eye, something unreadable on his face as he offers her a smile of his own.

"All done!" Marguerite exclaims, dropping her purple brush in the glass under the mirror. Turning, she grabs her aunt's hand and pulls Ruth level with her again. Wrapping tiny arms around Ruth's neck, she gives her a tight hug as she presses her smaller lips against Ruth's in a wet kiss. "Goodnight mummy Ruth."

Staring in wonder, Ruth watches as the girl skips down to her room, disappearing around the corner, before looking at her elbow, the feeling of a hand reminding her that Harry is there. Looking up, she sees Harry bent over her, his frame blocking the light in the smallish room. Pulling, he helps her up, and then displays a tenderness so rarely seen as he gently brushes away any trace of tears and toothpaste with his thumbs.

"She called me mummy Ruth," she says softly, hands fidgeting in the desire to hug Harry to her.

"Mmm," Harry mumbles, moving forward to slide his arms around her waist as he correctly reads her intentions. "Something tells me that you've been more of a mum to her this past week and a half than Angela ever has in four years." Holding her loosely, he lets his hands splay across her lower back.

"I never thought," she says, sighing as she wraps her arms around his neck, "I'd have the chance," she leans into him," to be someone's mum," she admits somewhat despondently.

"You're still young, it still is; and always has been; a possibility." Fingers bending, he grips her shirt lightly.

"It's not," she admits, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice," but that's not important." Turning her head, she presses a kiss against his chin. There's a touch of finality evident in her voice as she says "It never has been."

"Ruth," he mutters her name lowly, squeezing her to him. "It's…" He's stopped from whatever he's about to say as Marguerite calls him from her room.

"Go," Ruth says, stepping back against his arms.

"We're not done," Harry says quietly, leaning forward to drop his lips against hers. As he steps back, his fingers brush her cheek; thumb sliding against her lower lip. "You've toothpaste in your hair."

* * *

Stepping from the shower, Ruth reaches for her dressing gown, pulling it on. Hair wrapped in a towel, she steps into her bedroom, looking about to make sure Harry hasn't finished with Marguerite and come looking for her. Not seeing him, she quickly pulls on pajamas, tripping briefly over the leg of the trousers. Catching herself, she finishes dressing before crossing to the hall.

A quick glance in Markus' room finds him tucked in, the lamp by his bed lit as he reads quietly to himself. Hugging the doorframe, she smiles at him.

"Not too late."

"I know Aunt Ruth," he says, looking up to smile at her. "Harry promised tomorrow we'll go and get our tree."

"Tree?" she says, wondering just when she had agreed to buying a tree.

"Christmas tree! We can't have Christmas without one." He adds, eyes pleading with her.

"Oh," she mutters meekly, realizing that her plans to not celebrate the holiday will have changed with the arrival of the kids. "Right, Christmas."

"We can still celebrate it, can't we?" His voice is hesitant as he asks his question. "I…it's okay if we can't, it's just…"

"No," she says quickly, smiling weakly at him. "Of course you can still celebrate Christmas. I just forgot, that's all."

"Yay! Good night Aunt Ruth."

"Good night"

Pulling his door shut, she makes her way down the hall, checking on Matthew before stopping outside Marguerite's door. There, she listens as Harry finishes the tale of Peter Rabbit.

"But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries for super." The sound of a page being turned can be heard, followed by the rich baritone of his voice. "The end. (Potter)"

It's quiet for a moment, Ruth holding her breath as she hears the gentle groan of bed springs squeaking, and she imagines Harry standing, crossing the room to set the book back upon the low bookshelves under the windows. It's a popular book with the little girl, one she wants read to her every night, and one she likes looking at the pictures of when she's playing in her room; and one that usually has the blue eyed little girl asleep by the end.

"Mr. Harry?" a sleepy voice asks, tonight apparently the exception to that rule. "Can you marry mummy Ruth?"

Startled, Ruth gasps, hand clasping over her mouth as she strains to hear Harry's low answer. Part of her wonders if he'll lie to appease the little girl, tell her yes so she'll go to sleep, while another wonders if maybe that's what he meant when he said he'll always be there. Unfortunately, his answer is too quiet and she doesn't hear what he mumbles to the little girl. The next she hears is his muttered goodnight.

Turning, she hurries to her room, slipping under the side of the duvet just as his shadow moves to the doorway. Glancing up, she finds him standing there, carryall in his hand as he shifts from foot to foot; a nervous gesture she rarely sees in the confident man; and she reasons that he heard her quiet gasp just minutes before. Arms settling against the top of the cover, she smiles at him, projecting more confidence than she really feels.

"I'm just…going to turn in," he says, eyes locked on hers.

"We never finished the guest room," she reminds him, fingers twisting at the mauve fabric.

"Oh, right." Feet shifting again, he gestures towards the stairs with his free hand. "Well, there's always the couch."

"You'll never be comfortable Harry; it's entirely too small." Eyes darting to her fingers, she watches their movement a moment before looking up to him again. "Stay," she says, voice barely above a whisper, "in here – with me."

* * *

**Works**** Cited **

Potter, Beatrix. _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_. London: William Clowes Limited, Beccles and London, 1902. Website. 29 January 2014. www gutenberg org/ files / 14838 /14838-h/14838-h . htm.


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